


A Puzzle Not Worth Solving

by alivehawk1701



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Emotions, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Not Ashamed, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivehawk1701/pseuds/alivehawk1701
Summary: Crossover Fic. Set after the Fall, Hannibal is forced to seek medical help for Will from a very unlucky, grumpy blue eyed doctor who has no idea who he is dealing with.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 35
Kudos: 59





	1. A Risk

**Author's Note:**

> No one asked for this. I just couldn't get it out of my head; two of my favourite fandoms colliding, maybe this particular crossover has been done before, perhaps not . . .

Despite all my assurances Will was reluctant to seek medical help. It was a great struggle just to get him here. It had been nearly twenty days since we’d come ashore, finding refuge in abandoned places, licking our wounds and gathering our strength while search parties’ fervor and resources waned. If we were to travel further inland, in pursuit of our new life, our new beginning, there could be no more complications. 

His fever had persisted for five days, he could keep no food down, and his usual earthy and alluring smell had turned acrid and unsettling. I’d brushed damp locks of hair from his brow, protected for a moment under the great arms of an ancient oak tree, and told him I was making the decision for him. Infection bloomed somewhere in his body, out of my reach.

After an agonizingly long wait we were escorted into a small examination room in order to wait for a doctor. I found myself squinting in the brightness. We’d spent so much time sleeping during the day and traveling only at night that the harshness of the fluorescent lights was an assault to my senses. It was uncomfortable being here. For many reasons. It was difficult to know how safe we would be from apprehension, how far the FBI’s tendrils wove along the coast, or how well circulated our profiles and photos were. Ill fitting, scavenged clothes, unwashed and unkempt, these things, though small, also bothered me. But there was no other option. I had no personal cache of medications, no way to help Will, we had no other choice but to put ourselves at the mercy of this institution. 

Considering all the time I’d spent in hospitals one would think I’d become immune to the pethera of smells but the sharp odor of bleach and disinfectant, blended with the persistent smell of sickness and bodies in distress, was too pungent to ignore. The clinic itself was a heaving mass of faceless bodies. Graciously, it would be remarkable if anyone paid any mind to us at all.

Will sat on the examination table, arms wrapped around his waist, head bowed in submission. Like one of his dogs brought to the veterinarian. Resigned to his fate. I quickly surveyed the cupboards for supplies, not finding much beyond tongue depressors and cotton swabs, nothing worthwhile. 

I recognized in myself the primal urge to protect him. The instinct felt primitive, born from a base, proto-evolutionary part of my brain, igniting in me a furious desire to bare my teeth, raise my hackles and defend him from any perceived threat. Perhaps my efforts over the last few weeks, a time of healing and lying in wait, would assuage any doubts he still had about whether or not he could trust me. Of course, we’d had little time to focus on anything but survival, let alone traverse the complicated yet exhilarating leap forward our relationship had taken when he’d laid his bloodied head on my chest and listened at last to the drum of my heart. Thereafter we’d moved in silent sync through darkened woods and desolate roads, focused only on moving our broken bodies forward, not taking the time for words. I delighted in this type of communication. Such intimacy was what I had always wanted.

_ “I don’t know where I am.” _

_ We’d found a deserted cabin in the woods. Surprisingly free from damp it was a stroke of luck in several days of near delirious wanderings. Wounds had begun to scab over, wakeful hours were more productive and cogent while still at the mercy of fate and circumstance. I’d managed to find basic first aid items from a helpfully unobservant EMT worker and done my best for both of us. But we needed to rest. _

_ Will had just woken up from a brief, restless sleep, wrapped tightly in a blanket atop a plastic mattress. The dim, unadorned cabin, presumably only of use during busy summer months laid static and unappreciated, little more than shelter and a reprieve from sleeping on the hard ground. I’d been sitting up on the edge of the bed, checking the stitches on the gunshot wound at my side, satisfied with their progress, when he spoke.  _

_ At his words I turned, lifting a leg up on the bed, “We are near the Delaware Pennsylvania border I believe. We happened upon an abandoned cabin. I must remember to count our lucky stars.” _

_ “I don’t feel well,” he drew his knees up closer to his chest. _

_ “What are you feeling?” I asked. He made no answer. “Can you roll over, please? I need to check your stitches, Will” _

_ He took a few moments but slowly rolled over onto his back, light refracted off his pupils in the dim evening light like glinting coins at the bottom of a pool, unsteadily finding mine. Pain strained the fine lines of his face. Sitting up, he let the blanket fall from his shoulders and with shaking hands opened the first few buttons of his shirt, allowing me to start from the bottom and spread the pale cotton from his chest before he laid back down.  _

_ I could see his heart beating through the skin between his ribs, tight, constrained breaths like it hurt him to fully expand his ribs. I removed the bandage on his chest. My orderly stitches marched across his bruised skin like musical notes on a page. “It looks okay for now, considering,” I inhaled deeply, smelling for anything worrisome, the gathering of puss, heated fluids, “Regardless, let me change the bandage once more,” I reached for the bag near my feet and set to work.  _

_ “I dreamed I was still in the water,” he said as I gently washed and dried his stitches, lightly placing my fingertips around the skin to check the temperature as he continued talking, “Vast and dark and cold, caught up in swells that pulled me deeper away from the sun, out of reach,” he sighed shakily, “But I wasn’t afraid. I was weightless. At peace. Nothing hurt.” _

_ I applied the antibacterial ointment then unwrapped a sterile bandage, “I’m sorry you had to wake then.” _

_ “Are you?”  _

_ I lifted my eyes to meet his and felt a pang somewhere deep in my chest, “I’m sorry for many things,” he frowned, flinching slightly as I placed the bandage lightly over the wound and tore several pieces of tape, “You are surprised by this.” _

_ “It wasn’t something I was sure you were capable of.” _

_ His words felt too sharp, the way he said them through his teeth, biting them off through clenched teeth, “Despite whatever supernatural qualities you have imparted upon me I am still human,” I lowered my eyes, gritting my teeth slightly, “That fact is inescapable,” I finished my work, careful not to press the tape down too hard. I chanced meeting his eyes for a moment, “I am flesh and blood, like any man.” _

_ “Is that why we keep hurting each other? Human nature?” he clumsily fastened a few buttons, eyes still curious. _

_ “I never wanted to hurt you,” I swallowed through a tightness in my throat, pulling the blanket back over him. A few quiet moments passed. I weighed the risk of saying more, not wanting to stress his healing body, but again, as I’d discovered since meeting him, was compelled away from what was wise toward the things that my heart ached for most, “Before lapis lazuli was brought to the Europeans from Venice over a thousand years ago the colour blue, though all around them in the sea and the sky, was forever out of reach. Feeble, palid imitations were attempted but until that stone arrived they were never able to touch it. Eventually it became more valuable than gold. And that hunger for such a rare, mythical substance drove men to do a great many things, victims of their own desire to finally have the unattainable. I never thought my own section of sky would ever reach me, nor was I certain I was capable of appreciating it. I was unprepared for the experience, for you. And it has driven me to do things I wish I could have done differently.”  _

_ He said nothing. Though I was desperate for a response maybe it’s best he didn’t. Especially if it was something I didn’t want to hear. I couldn’t think of a more human thing than regret. A product of our mortality, never certain we will have the time to right our wrongs, pay or earn what we feel we are due. Bringing into painful focus the urgency of every choice in our finite lifespans. _

_ I said no more, but hoped that he knew that whatever part of me was human, hidden away in dark rooms so many years ago, had been awakened by him. And I couldn’t kill it, couldn’t ignore it. As agonizingly painful as the feeling was it was shockingly beautiful and imbued all I did, could do, with greater meaning. _

_ I looked to see his eyes roll shut. He was tired. I started to get up but was stopped. _

_ “Stay.” _

_ I hesitated, unsure if I’d imagined it, his eyes hadn’t opened. But he pushed down the blanket in a clear invitation.  _

_ Since rising from the water, I hadn’t allowed myself awareness of my body. I was content to push away the focal points of pain, the tears in muscle and staggering exhaustion, another reminder of my humanity, preferring clarity in order to survive. But in that moment awareness of my body came rushing back to me. And I could think of nothing more than sleep.  _

_ I heeled off my shoes and swung my legs gently onto the bed, lying on my back next to him with a deep sigh. He pushed a section of the blanket over me and curled onto his side in a way that suggested he was looking for warmth and rested his head near my shoulder, breath huffing warmly on my skin. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep again. My own eyes fell shut, finally feeling a modicum of safety, and I reached out my hand before sleep claimed me, to hold his.  _

I came to stand next to him and placed a hand on his back, feeling him shudder as if he’d been dozing off.

“This is a bad idea,” he said in a hoarse voice, lifting his head long enough to meet my eyes.

“I lack the resources to address your condition, Will,” I said, feeling the rush of his wide blue green irises spilling over their levies, a shiver run deliciously down my spine, “Your wound is infected. You need antibiotics or risk death.”

“And New Jersey is a hapless blindspot in the nationwide manhunt for us?”

“No,” I corrected, “Free, overly busy clinics are the blindspot to exhausted and overwhelmed doctors.” He was not comforted by this but was too weak to say more. I stepped forward into the turbulence and allowed my stillness, the iron core within me, to calm him, “It won’t take long,” there was a pharmacy in the hospital, we would be on our way in under an hour, “We have gone through too much together to be stopped my this.”

He smiled as well as he could, face pale and damp with sweat, “The tragic comedy of our lives,” he said dryly. He was not feeling well, his temper was short. But since the cliff, whether it was from some level of acceptance or lack of strength to do otherwise, he no longer seemed to resist my physical proximity. I hoped it was the former. I felt him lean into my side.

I heard footsteps outside the door and unconsciously shifting in front of Will as the door swung open. A man, offering the briefest of eyes contact to me, then to Will, returned to the chart in his hand, seemingly disinterested in anything else as the door shut behind him. 

I waited for an introduction but none came. He pushed a stool closer to himself and sat down, wheeling over to the sink while letting a simple yet well worn wooden cane fall against the wall. He took gloves from the dispenser there and turned back to us, not saying a word.

I frowned, “Good morning,” I greeted.

“Hiya,” he said, pushing himself to the table with a sharp snap of latex, close to Will. I hadn’t moved away. 

He was unkempt. Wrinkled shirt, twisted collar, jeans fragrant enough to let me know he hadn’t washed them in weeks. Regardless of the generally pleasing angles that his face produced, high cheekbones and a pronounced philtrum drawing attention to his lips, his skin was pale and dark circles were around his eyes. 

He rudely held out a thermometer in Will’s direction, “Under the tongue,”

Will took the thermometer. I watched his hand shake and his eyes close, eyelashes fluttering with the effort of keeping it steady. How unfortunate that this man was our doctor. And how surprising that he was allowed to practice without observing even the bare minimum of courtesy to those in need of help.

I turned to regard the man again, “What is your name, Doctor?”

“Doctor I Have Half an Hour Left on my Shift,” his eyes, which were bright pale blue, cold, harsh, and laced with aggression, met mine with untempered arrogance.

The thermometer beeped and he swiped it roughly from Will’s mouth, “Not great,” he said, glancing quickly at it.

“A recent injury may not have healed as well as it could have,” I explained, attempting to draw his eye contact again, “Antibiotics would be helpful.”

“Are you a doctor?” he asked dubiously, not only meeting my gaze but ruthlessly scanning my whole body. The feeling was unsettling. An odd mixture of violation and intense scrutiny. 

“I am,” I answered.

His eyes narrowed and he did the same shrewful examination of Will which angered me even more, “And proper wound care escaped you?”

“We have been on a prolonged camping trip.”

“How nice for you two,” he said mockingly, “Less interesting than the origins of the injury though,” he regarded me again with searching eyes, “I noticed you missed that part on the form. Oh and the part that said medical history.”

“The aim of this clinic is to treat quickly, safely, and effectively singular problems. Ours is clear. With a clear solution.”

He seemed to pay no attention, instead focusing again on Will, “Hey, buddy,” he said to Will who was still drawn inward. I cringed at the word buddy. Behind the veil of my inscrutable countenance my lips drew back from my sharp wet teeth. I resisted, instead placing my hand again at the small of Will’s back, knowing the physical contact would help him stay grounded. The doctor continued speaking to Will in a loud, patronizing voice, “Either you’re mute or or your boyfriend has real control issues,” he skillfully noted my twitch and rolled his eyes, “I’m sorry, life partner? Really, the cutest, I love the taste of co-dependency so early in the morning.”

Will spoke with great effort, “I was wounded. It feels hot. Painful. We’re not misleading you, we just--”

“Have smores to make, ok, get it. Where is the injury?”

“On my--” his hand went to his chest.

“Lay back,” the doctor interrupted again.

I was forced to the other side of the table as the doctor moved to inspect Will. He took only long enough to verify the wound was there then rolled backward to the bin, “Ok,” he whipped the gloves off, “Pus central. And because I’m being quick, safe, and effective, I’m not going to ask how or why you were stabbed.”

Will sat up and looked helplessly to me. I parted my lips, assessing this rude doctor’s actual interest before saying calmly, “Cooking accident.”

“Wow,” he raised his eyebrows, “Well done. I’m not at all suspicious. These things happen. Ours is not to reason why. But don’t worry. Antibiotics are like candy. Maybe I’ll pick the right one for mysterious brunch related stab wounds.”

“ Amoxicillin-clavulanate.”

“That’s a good one,” he said, wheeling forward as he placed his stethoscope in his ears, listening to Will’s heart, “But your,” he cleared his throat loudly, “ _ Friend _ has burst capillaries in his puppy dog eyes, rapid breathing, and it sounds like he breathed in rice krispies,” he turned to Will, “Trouble breathing?”

“Yeh,” he said weakly, then, “What does that mean?”

“Who could know?”

I drew in a deep breath, adjusting my jaw which had been clenched, delighting in the charge coursing through every nerve ending in my body, “Your demeanor is atrocious and sloppy, especially for a medical professional. You are highly presumptuous and overly reliant on generalities and salacious conjecture.”

“Fine. I’ll redact the conclusion I made based on your extreme postering, loving glances and drippingly sweet touches and not ask, or tell,” he again seemed fearless and relentless, finding his own delight in causing suffering, “If that’s the part that’s bothering you.”

“You’re overstepping your professional boundaries.”

“Only way to make clinic duty exciting.”

“How unfortunate your brain is so depleted of actual happiness that it is reliant on childish gibes and compassionless mockery for stimulation.”

“How unfortunate that you ended up in the one room with the one doctor that won’t fall for the innocent ol’us act that you so clearly worked hard on.”

“Unfortunate indeed.”

“Though fortunate that I really do have only a few more minutes left on my shift and even though part of me would be deeply interested to know all the melodrama, I’m ultimately lazy and self-interested.”

“Han--” Will coughed, stopping at almost saying my name, breaking my eyes away from the doctor’s challenging gaze. Will grabbed for my hand, the other to his chest, coughing again so violently his eyes snapped shut, face buried in his elbow. When he looked up there was blood splattered on his lips. 

“What--” he groaned and his eyes rolled backward, brilliant red over his teeth. I caught him as he fell to the side.

“Oops,” the doctor said with an exaggerated sigh, “Better plan on sticking around.”

I weighed our options quickly, glancing down at Will’s unconscious face, feeling my heart break in two, and with great effort not to show any signs of distress said, “Alright.”. 

We would have to stay. Risk exposure. Or death.


	2. A Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting on the first bit, one lowly author is eternally grateful. And of course it's House *love him and Hugh Laurie*

_ We’d slept through the night. The morning had escorted the birds to their positions in the orchestra, playing their individual songs in perfect abstract harmony with one another. The dappled light of the sun spilled through the small windows of the cabin, warming us as we laid together. In the night he had rolled to his other side and I’d tucked myself in, pressed to his back, feet to neck.  _

_ Still half asleep I lifted my arm to gently wrap it around him, grasping the forearm he had crossed over his chest. My lungs filled with clean woodsy air and my eyes shut again, face tucked into the curls of his hair, chin resting on his shoulder. He was deep asleep. The slow rise and fall of our chests made pace with each other and I tried, entirely aware of my own limitations, to stretch my awareness out to him. As he would. Wondering if I could touch his mind. In his dreams did he think it was someone else holding him? If he woke would he recoil? I sensed the sweet heat of his body, warmer in sleep, the gentle rolling of his heartbeat reverberating through his rib cage, the smell of coagulated blood from his wounds. I thought of the ocean, fiercely fighting the pull of the waves, of Will inhaling the dark water. It pained me to think he’d ever seek lasting tranquility in this way, denying the world, me, of such beauty. Or had he accepted himself as I accepted him? Has he seen the beauty in me? _

_ I let myself draw in my mind the outlines of his body, as I’d done so often in the past, adding in dark charcoal lines for every scar maring his small body. The scars on his body were a chronicle of our time together. I used the sharpest point to draw in every eyelash, adding the lightest shadow across his cheeks, blushed from our physical contact. Though I loved the exercise, the dull grey of graphite robbed me of the brilliant hues of life and he would wake soon and the fantasy would end. Burned in the fire like so much else.  _

_ I felt his chest expand against me and, rising partially to awareness, he groaned like a dog would, pressing himself closer into me, one hand coming to rest on my forearm which was around him. I allowed myself one more luxury, burying my nose deeply into his hair and inhaling, letting my imagination join him in a rocky creek, ochre leaves falling around us, the shock of impending winter on the wind. Don’t let this end. _

Will woke suddenly, eyes wide and frightened. I was at his side, taking his hand and squeezing lightly.

His eyes focused first on me then the room around him, blinking rapidly at machines and an IV in his arm, “What happened?”

“You lost consciousness. They admitted you.”

“No,” he said weakly.

“I had no choice,” I said softly, “Any protest would only raise suspicion. With any luck we will not be delayed long.”

“I thought we used up all our lucky stars by now,” he said quietly, eyes shutting again.

He rested for a moment. All I could allow him. “I’m sorry,” I said in a low voice, “I didn’t have the opportunity to discuss it with you first but I told the doctors we were married,” his eyes shot open, meeting mine, “Otherwise I would not be allowed in your room.”

It may have been born from exhaustion and bitter amusement but he actually smiled, beautiful to see, even now, “Mr. and Mr. . . .”

“Lindeman. Kristian,” I gestured to myself, “And Anders,” and to him.

“Perfect,” he sighed, “Hannibal, we need to get out of here,” desperately, “That doctor was asking too many questions.”

“He asked nothing,” I said, feeling the rage boiling, “Only made statements.”

“And  _ when  _ they ask questions?”

“We will say as little as possible, play our parts, let them treat you.”

“How are you okay with this?”

“Losing you is not an option.”

Either that was enough for him or he had no other choice but to submit. He took a deep breath, adjusting himself in the bed, careful not to disturb the IV and asked, “How long have we been married?”

“One year. Just got around to our honeymoon.”

“In New Jersey?”

“Camping is one of our favourite past times and we don’t have a lot of extra money after the down payment.”

“Ok,” he seemed amused, “Someplace in the country I hope.”

“Naturally,” I squeezed his hand and slowly lifted it to my lips. He looked surprised, as if he was trying to reason whether or not it was part of the deception, but didn’t resist as I pressed my lips softly to his knuckles.

At that moment the glass door slid open. A small, dark haired balding man and a young woman stepped through.

“Excuse us,” the man said, “I’m Dr. Taub, this is Dr. Adams.”

“Hello,” I greeted, lowering Will’s hand but still holding onto it. Will nodded in their direction. I saw the sides of his cheeks hollow as he clenched his jaw and felt him grip my hand tighter. Playing the part, I wondered, or do I actually comfort him?

The doctor continued, “We’re here to take Mr. Lindeman to get a chest x-ray.”

“What do you believe is the problem? Is it not just infection?” I asked.

“Most concerning is the bloody cough which indicates some kind of lung involvement,” Dr. Taub answered in a calm low voice, far more kind than the older doctor in the clinic.

“Mr. Lindeman,” Dr. Adams said, looking at Will, “Your husband says you are in the middle of a camping trip; were your symptoms present before you left?”

“No,” Will said, “Just started a few days ago.”

“How long have you been camping?”

“Over a week,” I said.

“Cooking over a campfire?” Dr. Taub asked.

“Most nights,” I answered.

“Cooking what?”

“A rabbit or two,” I hesitated. Mostly because I was desperately hungry thinking of the rabbits I’d caught. We’d risked a small fire rather than eating them raw, primitive yet delicious when we were so famished.

“Basic camping fare,” Will provided, “Hot dogs, junkfood, beer.”

“You two hunt?”

“Now and again,” I provided.

“Ever hunt or eat deer?”

“No,”

“Fish?”

“Yes, but not recently.”  
“Anything in your medical history we should be aware of?”

“No,” Will said, “Nothing comes to mind,” he looked at me.

“No,” I said, “The flu last year but no complications.”

“Ok,” Dr. Taub tucked the chart under his arm, “Dr. Adams is going to take you to x-ray,” he looked at Will then to me, “Mr. Lindeman.”

“Call me Kristian, please. And thank you for your time and dedication to my husband’s care, it is greatly appreciated.”

He seemed utterly unprepared for the courtesy, even blushing slightly before readjusting his frame, “Kristian, if I could have a few moments.”

“Of course,” I said, glancing at Will long enough to convey what limited reassurance I could then kissed his hand once more before standing. The other doctor pushed his bed out of the room and Dr. Taub stayed behind.

“The wound on his chest should respond quickly to the IV antibiotics.”

“Good, I'm glad to hear it.”

“I’m obligated to ask if you, or him, are in any danger or want to speak to the police.”

“Because the other doctor, the doctor in the clinic, said it was a stab wound?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Accidental. We are in no danger.”

“And you would have no reason to hurt your husband?” To his credit he showed no hesitation. Straight and to the point and according to hospital regulation.

“None at all,” then, “Is Dr. Adams asking my husband these same questions?”

“Yes.”

“Who was the doctor in the clinic?”

“Dr. House. He is head of diagnostics and took over the case.”

“He was very rude to us.”

“Not that it makes it right but that’s not unusual,” he seemed distractingly familiar with the sentiment, “He’s attracted to puzzles and is very good at solving them. But if there is anyone I’d want to help figure out what was wrong with someone I loved, it would be Dr. House.”

“Reassuring, thank you,” I said. It wasn’t. But the information could be useful.

“Feel free to grab something to eat from the cafeteria,” the doctor said, “Dr. Adams will bring him back as soon as they’re done.”

I did not go to the cafeteria. Though I desperately wanted to. A good meal would have to wait. Instead I looked through Will’s room for supplies, finding more basic first aid items and other useful tools, which I gathered into a bookbag I’d found in the cabin. I was hoping to find a newspaper but saw none and didn’t want to risk spending too much time out of the room. 

Whatever malady Will was suffering was acute. Most likely either from the fall or from the time spent out of doors. I wasn’t worried. Just hoped that the doctor, Dr. House, would remain lazy and self-interested. For his sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to anyone who caught the reference to a wonderful short film Mads did called "The Boy Below" wherein I snatched their aliases from . . . if you haven't seen it, get thee to YouTubes and watch it is spectacular and beautiful and features skinny little delicious Mads legs. And beard. And smoking. Also this is only three chapters, lovelies, so the conclusion will be next . . . should I warn you? No, I think not. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. A Consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning* bit of the ol'morbid violence in this chapter*

They returned Will to our room and left quickly with the typical niceties but no update. Beckoned like snakes to the flute. To Dr. House. Presumably afterwards to suggest a course of treatment. The nurses had brought Will something to eat, allowing us a gracious moment alone.

“Why didn’t you get me a ring?” Will asked from his bed. He looked better, if not just for having the rest and comfort he needed, even for a short time.

“You’re allergic to most metals.”

“And if money weren’t an issue, where would we have gone on our honeymoon?”

“Machu Picchu; a hike we’ve always wanted to do together and a tribute to both my anthropological studies and our first date where you had your first taste of ceviche and loved it.”

The room was now pleasantly lit by only warm afternoon light. The lunch they had provided Wil was minimal, soup and a roll, but it caused my stomach to clench and growl just at the sight of it. He uncovered the soup, licking his lips with a frown, “Lying comes so easily to you.”

“I have a good imagination. Though not as good as yours,” I watched as he weakly took a bite of soup and offered me the plain, overly processed roll and a small pad of butter. I took it, reluctantly and only for the nourishment, “What did you think of the doctor in the clinic?”

“Dr. House? You hardly have to be an empath to understand him,” he immediately looked aggravated as if even asking to recall the memory brought the man back into the room.

“I’m curious to know your unique thoughts.”

“A tremendous amount of pain. And loneliness,” he put his spoon down, “And hiding,” he frowned, “He sees people as play things.” 

I nodded in agreement, taking a savoring bite of buttered bread, eyes closing and mouth suddenly awash with saliva. I licked at some butter on my finger and opened my eyes to see Will looking at me. His pupils had dilated, making me quirk an eyebrow with interest but make no mention, he may not be aware of it himself, “Dr. Taub says he is fond of puzzles.”

“We are puzzling people.”

“Not Mr. and Mr. Lindeman,” I said with a small smile.

He ate more soup, smiling as well, “The most exciting thing to happen to Anders Lindeman is an ingrown toenail. Or a banal nightmare about showing up to a work meeting naked.”

“A simple man with simple fears.”

“And he wakes up in the safety of his home, a warm arm around him, wiping away the darkness like blood from granite because he knows tomorrow is known, tomorrow looks like yesterday,” he met my eyes, “Is it terrible I’m envious of an imaginary person?”

“No,” I finished the roll with gusto, “It is very common to wish for normality, for ignorance rather than the intense awareness and pain intelligence and insight brings.”

“Well I’m not all together normal.”

_ No you’re not _ , I thought,  _ you’re perfect just the way you are. A confluence of light and dark, neither side negating or corrupting the other, a human embodiment of all that is great and terrible and beautiful  _ . Instead I said, “Nor am I.”

He laughed in a pained way, covering his mouth at an unexpected cough, clearing his throat with a shaky sideways smile. Catching his breath he played with a noodle in his soup, brow knitted together, lips pressed into a bloodless line before saying, “Maybe we should stay the Lindemans.”

“We are not. Nor could we ever be.”

“Is that radical acceptance?”

“Yes. And appreciation for the truly extraordinary. Because we have something they will only dream of.”

“And what’s that?”

“Passion.”

Our eyes locked together in a way that intensified my heartbeat and quickened my breath as the air became charged, contouring the negative space between us. Several emotions flashed over his face, not the least of which was recognition, and fear. The moment snapped in an instant when he looked away with an almost amused expression. He pushed the soup away, not making eye contact again, “If something happens here, they try to keep me or they figure something out, just run, get out of here.”

“No.”

“This doctor could blow our cover. You don’t want to be around for that.”

“He is a wounded animal. Though unlike a wounded animal he does not try to appear uninjured, if immobile, he cries out for everyone and anyone to hear. Either he is unaware, or doesn’t care, that there are often predators within earshot.”

The door slid open again and Dr. Taub and Dr. Adams entered. Peering through the glass door I saw Dr. House outside, standing sentry in the shadows.

“Good news,” Dr. Taub said, meeting our enthusiastic faces, “The cough can be explained by a fungal infection, nothing systemic. A few pills,” he held them up triumphantly, “Should clear them out and you will be ready to go.”

Will’s head fell back on the pillow in relief. I breathed my own sigh of relief, saying “Thank you, from both of us.”

“Inhaling the right spores, at the wrong time, though uncommon, led to the perfect breeding ground. But, we caught it in time. We will keep you overnight, make sure you respond well to the treatment, and hopefully discharge you in the morning.”

“Perfect,” I said, eyes quickly shifting to Dr. House outside. How aware of me was he? How many pieces of the puzzle did he think he saw and how did he believe they fit together? No matter how badly he wanted to know the truth, how curious he was about us, it was a truth he was unprepared to know.

“No more camping, Kristian,” Will said to me from his bed, drawing me back. 

“Yes, those days may be behind us, dear,” I said to Will. He’d noticed my distracted gaze.

Dr. Taub set the pills on the tray over Will’s bed then watched as Will swallowed them quickly. If this was indeed the solution we would soon need to leave the hospital undetected, swiftly, and with a plan.

“Well,” the doctor said, “I”ll let you rest.” and left the room.

From the shadows Dr. House remained. But now he wasn't alone. Another man, shorter, dark hair, had come to stand next to him. He stood close, like they were speaking quietly and didn’t want anyone to hear. Though I’m not as skilled as I could be at reading lips I was able to make out the words  _ home _ ,  _ need _ , and  _ wait _ . I watched Dr. House lean closer, as if to whisper into the ear of the other man, who smiled, content at what seemed a familiar shared orbit. Wordless eye contact went on a bit too long making me curious what different hues those blue eyes could take in different lights. And with this person. Interesting. As quick as the exchange was, their separation was equally quick and Dr. House came limping through the door.

“Fungal infection,” he said as a greeting, moving to take a seat in a chair opposite Will’s bed, taking a casual, worryless posture, “Or Mr- _ ers _ Lindeman,” he inhaled sharply, “Just wanted to stop in, see how you were feeling.”

Will frowned, “Better,” he said, “Thank you.”

“Before you feel too special we get fungal ridden idiots in the clinic all the time. As far as the medical part of this case goes, that’s pretty anticlimactic. Though most people try to eat them for shiny sparkly reasons.”

“I’m happy with anticlimactic. Why are you here?” Will asked, insistence edging his voice as he shifted to sit up straighter in his bed. I sensed his own hackles rise and shivered at the memory of blood dripping down his chin. I longed to have that feeling again. Both of us tense and poised for the hunt. My eyes shifted to Will then to Dr. House. 

“Just curious,” the doctor sighed, “This is usually the part of the case where the patient thinks they’re fine, then blood spurts from an orifice, and they swear they weren’t lying but in fact they were. The whole time. So. Yeh. Just waiting for the show.”

“You enjoy watching blood spurting from orifices, Doctor?” Will asked.

“Doesn’t have to spurt. Could just ooze.” 

“I think,” Will said with a sideways glance, “You should speak to a professional. I could recommend someone.”

“No need. I went vegan recently. Too much meat eating maybe.”

“Why do you suspect we are lying, Dr. House?” I asked.

“A lot of things just don’t add up. Keeps me up at night. Bothers the wife.”

“You’re married?” I asked, tilting my head to regard the man.

“Not in the man woman sense. Or the man man sense. Or the married sense.”

“That man you were speaking to outside; you live together?”

“On and off for years, some people say I’m his rock.”

“When in fact he is yours?”

“Gleaned that all from watching us through the glass? How astute.”

“Hardly difficult. You make no efforts to construct any barrier between your emotions and the world. You let them spill out around you like a stain.” 

Dr. House smiled slowly as if he was enjoying this. When in fact he had no idea how dangerous a game he played, “What was it, a fire? Foreclosure? Unpaid gambling debts?” his eyes had darkened, “Something, and not a honeymoon, upended the two of you.”

“You’re attempting to satisfy your own curiosity not for our sakes, but for your own. We are entitled to our lives as mundane or as eventful they may be. As are you.”

“Mundane?”

“Often.”

“Cribbage level mundane or we-were-the-Lindemans-last-week mundane.”

“Anders is an excellent cribbage player.”

“Kristian,” I hear and Will is interjecting himself, giving me a warning gaze,    
“Dr. House, I’m not going to be oozing any blood, you solved your case. We just want to go home.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes darkened, persistent, “Wish it were that easy,” he said in a lower voice, “Because I am that curious. Intensely so,” he seemed pleased with himself, “You come to the clinic in mismatched clothes, not trendy LL Bean camping gear as you’d expect, you’re riddled with injuries, old and new and your husband hasn’t retracted his claws since you got here. Now either that’s just what love is or there’s a larger, less rosy picture developing. Or developed.” 

Will shifted his eyes to mine and laughed, convincingly dumbfounded, “Larger picture? Doctor, I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he shook his head, “I’m an ex-cop, injured a lot in the field and apart from a terrible ending to our honeymoon I can’t think of anything at all interesting about us,” he glanced up at me with concern, grabbing my hand as a husband would.

I nodded in agreement, “All we plan on doing is going home and taking long showers to remove the grime,” I said, “Grateful of course to you and to your team.”

Dr. House bounced his cane several times on the floor, the whirs and clicks of his mind loud enough to hear. I smelled him again, noting the tart smell of an unhealthy body, toxins settled deep and thick throughout his body.

“Right. Ok. Get some rest then,” he said, moving to the door, “I’ll get your discharge paperwork ready.”

He left and Will quickly let go of my hand and ran both hands through his hair with an exaggerated sigh, “Christ. I’m done.”

“As am I,” I said, suddenly feeling the cold chill of the hospital room, the denseness of the clouds rolling in, “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

“Yes, yes,” his hand went to the IV, “Can this--”

“Of course,” I said, moving to the other side of the bed to reach into a drawer for a piece of gauze and a bandage. “Ready?” he nodded and I pulled out the IV, quickly covering it as redness bloomed, “Apply pressure and put on the bandage when you are ready. We should wait till shift change and be on our way, Will.”

“How? On foot?” he looked exhausted again, just at the thought. 

“No, I will get us a car.”

“A car? You’re going to, what, steal one?”

“I learned a great many things in my youth.”

He smiled, glancing at the clock and swinging his bare legs over the side of the bed, “An hour then?”

“Yes,” I met his eyes and felt somewhere in the distance the string section raising their elbows in unison, bows poised, careful hypnotic anticipaticipitory breaths before the crescendo. The fantasy of course was over. The Lindemans were dead. “I’ll meet you back here in one hour.” I turned to leave.

“Hannibal,” he said quietly and hearing my real name again, even after a short time was an unfettered relief. I stopped and turned. 

“Don’t,” he swallowed, face half in shadow, looking small and thin on the edge of the bed, “Don’t let him ruin this.”

I offered a small smile, the perfect clarity of purpose settling my nerves, “I won’t.”

_ With a deep sigh Will stretched out his legs, toes brushing against mine, the gossamer veil of sleep falling away. My eyes opened, fluttering against the golden morning sun. I was still holding Will, chest to back, warm in the chill morning air. The first moments of the day are the most peaceful. Like a turbulent sea allowed to settle into glistening glass. Inevitable winds and storms couldn’t ruin this moment.  _

_ The hand I’d had around him had unclasped and relaxed next to him. My eyes still closed, I felt one of his hands settle lightly over mine, rough fingertips tracing the line of my veins, the dips between my knuckles, the smoothness of my thumbnail. Let him touch. I didn’t try to reciprocate, join our fingertips, or even move. He found my pulse at my wrist. Could he feel it elsewhere, so close to me, after so many years?  _

_ With small sounds of protest from the well worn mattress Will rolled over, tucked the jacket he was using as a pillow under his neck and met my now open eyes. Wordlessly, his fingertips found my face, slowly tracing the line of my cheek bone, my jaw, tickling an earlobe. I lifted my chin to allow him to run his fingers down my neck, over my throat, then over my collar bone. Goosebumps rose on my skin as I watched his eyes follow his hand, struggling not to shiver as every nerve ending was set aflame, worried the smallest of movements would make him stop. _

_ He drew his hand back up to my face and let his index finger slide down the line of my nose, along the rough lines of my mouth to my chin before slowly running the pad of his thumb over my parted lips. Eyes finally flickered up to mine then back to my lips. He leaned forward until his lips barely touched mine, tickling the small hairs, hot moist breath mingling with my own. I didn’t move. Will’s lips pressed lightly to mine then more firmly with a fast inhale through his nose, exiting as a gasp over my lips. The kiss deepened, a small flick of his tongue between my lips made me drop my jaw, allowing him access. The slow rocking of his lips and tongue against mine made my hips helplessly roll forward in unison, a shuddering breath leaving me when his teeth caught my lower lip. A small startled moan and his lips left mine with a small smack. His eyes were closed, breathing in tight shallow breaths. I could feel him shaking. _

_ I found his hand and lightly brought it to my chest, just over my heart. Needed him to know, prove to him, I was human. His eyes shot open, maybe at how hard it was beating. He stayed frozen, hand held to my heart, eyes wide and searching. But only for a moment. He got up quickly, leaving a cold void where he’d been. Watched him shove his feet into his boots and left the cabin, door noisily shuddering shut against the frame. I rolled onto my back, lips tingling, settled my hand over my half-hard cock, and closed my eyes.  _

I left Will’s room, leaving him to get dressed, moving like a shadow through the hospital with my head down. I walked quickly and quietly up back stairwells before coming to stand several paces from the glass door with his name on it, listening. I smelled him there. And no one else. Walking a few paces forward I could see him hunched over his computer, head in his hands. 

“Good evening, Dr. House,” I said from the doorway.

He looked up with a startled expression, mouth falling open as the blood drained from his face, “Hi.”

“Working late?” I ask, entering the room, coming to stand with my arms at my sides.  
“It’s the dedication.”

“And is your friend not waiting for you at home?”

“Probably. I like to keep him waiting though. Wait long enough and he’ll do all my laundry.”

“Is that how you experience love? Only by submission and subversion?”

“That’s usually how it works,” he said in a now familiar mocking tone. There was only the smallest quiver, shortness of breath under the words, denoting his apprehension, “I hear some people enjoy that kind of thing in a relationship.”

I paused, enjoying the tension building in the air, strings engaged, woodwinds swaying in time, “I have the feeling that you know exactly what it’s like to desperately need someone,” he pushed back the wheels of his chair, “But not so much being needed by someone else.”

“That’s what you and your husband have?”

“He’s not my husband. But yes, it’s a mutual need, as it should be. If I thought it were possible I would hope the same feeling for you. Had you had the time and the courage to take the chance.”

I noticed his eyes shifting toward his cane resting against the opposite wall of his office. I smell fear drip thick across my senses. Percussion had added the rich rhythm of an urgent heartbeat and rushing blood.

“Find anything interesting?” I asked, nodding to the computer.

“More than I suspected,” his shoulders were tense, face gone pale, several tense moments passed, “You’re presumed dead. Both of you.”

“Have you called the police?”

He shifted in his chair, trying to plant his feet underneath himself, eyes darting to the outer hallway, “Not yet.”

“We would have left as quickly as we arrived. You would have never heard from us again,” he still wasn’t moving, perhaps hoping for someone to walk by, perhaps trying to figure out a distraction, “But you were very rude to us; as you are well aware. And now you are more than just a nuisance, Doctor, you threaten us, threaten Will,” I took several slow steps forward, full orchestra erupting now in my ears and pulsing through every part of my body, “Of course the downside is that your body is too contaminated,” I said, “No parts worth saving.”

He moved quickly, more agile than I would have anticipated. But not fast enough. There was no way out from the corner of his office. He didn’t reach his cane in time either. A sharp right hook caught me on my jaw, surprising me, making me bite my tongue, tasting blood. I blocked another blow, even with adrenaline on his side he was not as strong as me. Ducking, I reached for a magic eight ball on his desk and savagely brought it down over his head. His legs shook but he remained standing. When I struck his right leg he lost his footing entirely, allowing me to move behind him, arm secure around his neck. I decided against the syringe I had in my pocket for the moment, easy enough to hold him until his lips turned blue and muscles jerked, brain on fire. He punched at my arms, sides, grabbing at my hair and ears. 

“I wonder,” I said into his ear as he choked, rasping breathes becoming desperate, his heart beating wildly all around me, “Is your friend going to find your body in the morning?” To his credit, when he heard this he used one last ounce of strength to try and arch and throw himself from my grasp, eyes wide in terrible realization, but it was useless. His body went limp with unconsciousness, heavy dead weight in my arms. 

I set it on the ground, smoothing my hair. I went to the door and locked it, shutting the blinds. I knew my time was limited but there are consequences to all actions. It is truly a luxury to never feel the sting, the repercussions of unkind behaviour and poor choices. And it is truly a tragedy to exist in a life half realized, marred with fear and doubt, always shying away from opportunities for pleasure and contentment. I objected to Dr. House; objected to power without discipline. I pulled the blade from my pocket, seizing my own opportunity for pleasure, wishing Will could join me here.

The next morning, two coffees in hand, Wilson noted the closed blinds, confirming House had slept there overnight. Probably got into the bottle in his desk, blowing off their dinner plans for brooding and pouting rather than actual adult conversation. He wondered briefly why he put up with it, why he was the one always crawling back, forgiving with a cup of coffee and a new dinner invitation, like it would be different this time. 

He didn’t knock, not wanting to give House the courtesy, instead pushed through the door, “House!” he called, eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness, “I ate your lo mein and my orange chicken last night, thank you very much.”

Wilson stopped after a few steps, suddenly aware the hairs on his neck were standing on end, nostrils flaring uncontrollably. The air smelled thick, metallic. And wrong. A dark shape was silhouetted against the windows, arms splayed to either side, but something was off, something made his skin crawl, breath quicken. He was struck with a sudden feeling that he was going to be sick and though he didn't want to see, his pupils dilated and the image before him sharpened and came into focus. 

House’s body, dissected into perfect pieces, pale light shining through the thin spaces between shoulder and arm, hip and leg, neck and head. Pieces of a puzzle, barely together. The coffees dropped to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! To all whose jaws may be on the floor at Dr. House's untimely death let me explain; I love House. Watched it through many times. But no matter how much I love him and the show I have some qualms. Where in earlier series of the show they attempted to sprinkle in more human, House-actually-cares moments, in later series it was, in my mind, less and less so making me at times very angry at what a complete and total jerk he was. It wasn't funny nor cute anymore. And a diservice to the character, I reckon. So, this story was a way for me to take out that anger using Hannibal as my instrument. And yes, poor Wilson. Read my other stories, I ship them hard but House was largely an unappreciative, immature, self-serving ass to Wilson MOST of the time. Hannibal points out his lack of courage, not letting Wilson know how he feels, because to Hannibal that's what he has done; chosen the path of completion, of happiness. Because yes, people can change.
> 
> I will also not take credit for the line "I object to you, I object to power without discipline" that was Mr. Spock in TOS, episode, The Squire of Gothos. RIP Leonard
> 
> And reading back, editing, etc, I realized how completely and utterly touch starved I am (the third flashback). Lockdown limbo is devistatingly hard for people that live alone, like myself. So, a sincere bow of solidarity and understanding to anyone else that is struggling and just wants some bloody human contact; you are not alone in that feeling. Read, write more fics, they help.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you guess the crossover?? May the gods forgive me. I love both these fandoms so much, and the characters, don't get me wrong, but the idea of these two minds meeting was too tantalizing to ignore, what? Comments are love, most assuredly, so let me know what you think, predictions, otherwise the rest of the bits will be out daily. Cheers!


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